


and if i go, i'm goin' shameless.

by thicklykeen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, No Dialogue, Sad, Sadstuck, dave strider is really the only character, personal fic, rated teen because i use the word fuck so much, someone dies wow whats new, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 13:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thicklykeen/pseuds/thicklykeen
Summary: your name is dave strider, and you're afraid to die.





	and if i go, i'm goin' shameless.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song If I Go, I'm Goin by Gregory Alan Isakov
> 
> this is personal, and it's a big vent

There are things you expected from yourself, things you expected you would be afraid of, but death had never been one of them. It’s funny how terrified you are, considering you nearly died every day when you lived with your Bro. There’s something different about this one though. You aren’t being attacked by someone you know won’t kill you, by someone who would just use katanas and swords as a way to toughen you up; the person in front of you is trying to murder you. And sure, maybe your boyfriend is already dead, maybe they went and murdered your sister and best friends while they were at it, but you refuse to go down without a fight. You can’t just lose to this being, this dog-like thing.

It’s funny how horrified you are of death.

You always thought you were ready, always believed that you would go down with a fight, a big bang. You aren’t, though. You’re going out as a scared kid who can’t save the world like you need to, you can’t even save your friends for fuck’s sake, what makes you think you can save your friends? It was a useless idea to begin with. You never even had a fully developed plan, you never fucking do. Maybe if you did, your friends would have a chance of still being alive. Your friends might be beside you and fighting with you, but you don’t because you’re just a fuck-up who can’t do a single fucking thing right. 

Maybe dwelling on all your self-hatred wouldn’t have gotten you stabbed.

It takes a moment for you to feel the sword that’s been driven through your chest. When you do, you don’t do anything to stop it. The dog-like being, nearly godlike, wrenches it out of your chest and you only begin to bleed more than before. You think you should feel upset about this, feel bad about dying when you have so many people who care about you, but you don’t. They’d be better off without you, better off without you as their distraction because all you do is get in their way and disrupt them. You can’t even take a joke for fuck’s sake when it’s all you ever say. The only things that ever come out of your mouth are fucking jokes, why can’t you ever seem to take one? Because you’re you, of course. You can’t do anything right, according to yourself and your Bro. These are strange thoughts to be dwelling on when you’re dying. How worthless you were to a team, a team that’s more than likely dead because of you. You don’t realize you’re on the ground until you feel the sticky, warm blood begin to pool around your hands, and the once green grass is stained in red. You try to let out a laugh, but it comes out as a heaving wheeze, along with you coughing up blood. You roll over so you can look at the sky. Some sappy fuck you are, looking at the sky while you’re dying. It helps in some way, though. Helps calm your nerves, helps you not think about how permanent what’s about to happen is. Death is so fucking scary. It’s so fucking scary. You don’t know how you ever thought you were prepared for it because you never have been and you never will be if you survive this, which you doubt you will. You think you finally know what real fear feels like, or it’s the real fear you haven’t felt in so long, the fear you haven’t wanted to experience, haven’t fucking missed, in years. You hate the fact that you’re crying because you brought this upon yourself you dumb bastard, you’re the reason you got stabbed. 

You want to rewind time, you want to start from the fucking beginning. You can’t start from the beginning. You can never start from the beginning again because you’ve already lived the beginning and nothing you ever do will change what’s happening. It might bring your friends back, your fucking family back, but maybe they’re better off without you. Maybe they’re better off without you interrupting every conversation they have, summoning yourself when you aren’t needed, just being an all-around bother. You can’t stand to talk to yourself sometimes because maybe you are to self-conceited and maybe that ‘confidence’ you have is really just narcissism in disguise.

God, it feels so good to die.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @funkyhypnotic


End file.
